


Straight Line (to the heart)

by TheJaskiestOfThemAll



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bad Flirting, Drunk idiots, First Meetings, Fourth of July, Happy Ending, Injury, Meet-Cute, Mentions of Sex, Minor Character Death, Multi, War, really horny character, someone goes to therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25538848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJaskiestOfThemAll/pseuds/TheJaskiestOfThemAll
Summary: “Are you motherfuckers ready!” yelled Lambert, standing on Yennefer and Triss’ living room table, “For the yearly fucking fourth of July bar crawl!”Or- how Lambert forgives drunk Lambert
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 24
Kudos: 136
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #005





	Straight Line (to the heart)

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanna say thank you to one particular person (you know who you are). I owe you my life.

“Are you motherfuckers ready!” yelled Lambert, standing on Yennefer and Triss’ living room table, “For the yearly fucking fourth of July bar crawl!”

“Lambert, if you break my table I will break your neck.” 

Lambert grinned provocatively, “Don’t tell me that, I’ll get a boner.”

Jaskier, sitting half on Eskel’s lap and half on Geralt’s on the black leather couch choked on his glass of wine while laughing. Geralt took Jaskier’s wine glass so that he wouldn’t drop it and Eskel rubbed his back in an attempt to soothe Jaskier.

Yen glowered and started to walk toward him in a way that spelled certain death, but a hand touched her gently on the shoulder. Yennefer turned around and saw Triss with a playful smile on her face.

“We paid 40$ for that table, Yenna if it breaks, it breaks.” She looked at Lambert and her smile was full of teeth (which were surprisingly sharp), “And if it does, you’ll get to see Lambert fall on his ass.”

Yennefer snorted, “His fat ass would soften the blow.”

“My ass is the perfect thickness, thank you very much!” exclaimed Lambert as he tried to sneakily get off the table.

“His ass is a pretty good one.” Jaskier butted in.

Geralt growled, grabbed Jaskier by the waist and playfully bit him on the neck, “You don’t need any more ass.”

Jaskier snickered and his hand went somewhere Lambert really didn’t want to think about, “Don’t worry darling I get enough ass from you and Eskel.”

Eskel reached out and grabbed Jaskier’s thigh before sealing their lips in a passionate kiss. Geralt made a frustrated noise and Eskle broke the kiss to turn his head and give Geralt the same loving treatment. 

“Alright fuckers stop trying to eat faces and get ready to go out and get piss ass drunk.” 

This was the best night of the year. The only time where they all could take a day off from work to meet up and have some fun. 

The tradition had started because Lambert had just gotten out of the army after a six year contract, and it was the first time in a decade that he, Geralt and Eskel had been at the same place, at the same time.

Geralt and Eskel had signed up at 18 in an attempt to not get thrown on the street (the foster system was not a very nice place). The army had done a good job convincing them that it was a good place where they would be accepted and where their talents would be used for the greater good or some bullshit like that. They had both gotten in quite easily; they were talented in almost everything they did. 

They were quickly deployed in Syria to join the troops and fight for “freedom”. 

Their first years had been fine, as fine as they could be when you were in enemy territory. 

The real troubles had started when Lambert had also joined. He had been a dumb kid trying to escape a shitty family life (but he had also thought that his father would love him if he became a _real_ man). 

The army had placed him in the same group as Geralt and Eskel. They became his best friends and his brothers (not that he would ever tell them that sober). He had also met Gweld, Aubry and Frank. They were a good team together. The Wolves, they were called.

They were effective and deadly. Always finishing the job, no matter the cost to themselves.

That first year as a team, they had lost Frank to an IED.

The second year, they lost Aubry in an active shooting and later had to leave Gweld behind on a mission. They haven't seen him since.

The third year… the third year they almost lost Geralt.

It had been a routine mission. Get in, take the town, get out.

What they hadn’t been told was that the town wasn’t full of terrorists but full of civilians. It was an ambush. The town got bombed and they got separated. 

Eskel and Lambert had been able to find cover before the bombs hit but Geralt, that fucking idiot, had lunged into the fray trying to grab as many civilians as he could and get them to safety. 

It had taken them hours to find him and when they did… his side had been pierced by shrapnel and one of his legs was crushed under part of a building. He had been cut from the forehead to the chin through the eye. They had been sure he was going to lose it.

The worst was that he had been tightly holding the body of a young girl. He was deliriously chanting her name and trying the press on a wound that had already bled out. Lambert would never forget her name nor the judgemental look in her dead eyes. Renfri. That was her name. 

They had to force Geralt to leave her behind in order to get him to safety. They had gotten him medical aid just in time. He was in a coma for a few weeks and when he woke up, he had been hit in the face by a dishonourable discharge. For the murder of civilians. What a fucking joke.

The journals back home had taken the story and had made him seem like a heartless monster. He had even been given the nickname The Butcher.

Fuck them. They didn’t know him.

Geralt had been stuck in the hospital for a while to get him ready for the travel back home. And, from what Lambert had heard, one day he had woken with a young smiling man at his bedside, asking for the story of what happened.

Lambert later learned that that man was Jaskier. He was an English war journalist looking for a story, who instead found a cause. He had been horrified at what had happened to Geralt and vowed to change the opinion of the public on him (he did change it a few years down the line). 

Jaskier had annoyed Geralt into trusting him and becoming his friend. He had even followed him back to the USA.

It had taken a year for Geralt to finally have his trial. A year in which both Lambert and Eskel had to stay. It was even harder for Eskel knowing that it was his last year on active duty and that when he was discharged he was going to be able to support his friend (and as Lambert learned later the man he had been in love with for most of his life). While Lambert still has two years in the field.

Eskel, unfortunately, hadn’t been able to go. He got wounded a few weeks before his discharge and had to stay in the hospital throughout the time of the trial. It was during that time that he had gotten his infamous scars.

It stressed Geralt to all hells. He was not in a good place to have a trial. Good thing his lawyer was a fucking scary, motherfucking genius. 

Yennefer Vengerberg was the scariest looking motherfucker on the planet. But she was one hell of a lawyer.

She was given the case and a month later, her case was ready for court.

She destroyed them. Geralt had been found innocent of all crimes.

When Geralt had called to tell Lambert the news, who had run to the hospital to scream at Eskel. They may have cried a little, but no one can prove it.

Eskel got better and was discharged soon after. He went home ready with the new-found courage to tell Geralt that he loved him. What was a little rejection compared to what they had faced before?

Apparently, it still hurt like a bitch.

Eskel had gotten home to the appartement Geralt was supposed to be sharing with him and had come face to face with Yennefer and Geralt furiously fucking on the kitchen counter. 

He left immediately.

He was in shock in the hallway when he had met Jaskier who had taken one look at him and understood that Yennefer and Geralt where fucking.

Jaskier had taken Eskel to a nice coffee shop on the corner and they had bonded over their unrequited love for Geralt and their love for poetry.

Lambert had gotten out of the military and right into this relationship fuckery. Two broken-hearted persons not being able to get over someone. And two others in a stupidly fucked up relationship.

Yikes.

So Lambert had proposed the bar crawl. They could have some good times together. And alcohol solved any problems if you had enough in your system, right?

It had gone pretty okay for a night full of tension and longing filled hearts. They were able to hit two bars before Geralt and Yennefer ditched them to fuck. And another one before Jaskier and Eskel drowned their sorrows in each other’s bodies.

Lambert had been left behind. It wasn’t so bad, he had been able to finish all the beers and the wine.

Then he had drunk some more. And had the bright idea to learn how to walk in a straight line while drunk (the best party trick to get more alcohol and fuck with the police). He doesn’t remember how he did it but he learned it! He had also completely trashed his outfit. How is and will always remain a mystery.

During the summer after The Crawl (as Lambert had started calling it in his head) Yennefer and Geralt had an explosive breaking up which left Geralt in pieces. Yennefer fucked off to somewhere to take care of herself. Which was fair, breakups are never easy.

Then, plot-fucking-twist, Jaskier and Eskel decided to try for a relationship? And they were fucking cute? 

Geralt had a strange reaction to the news, he locked himself in his room for a few days. Lambert had thought that it was because he was missing Yennefer (even if it had been months since their breakup and that they had become friends again). 

Yennefer had then started to hook up with some girl (old friend or something, whatever) named Triss. 

That was a wild year.

On the next fourth, Lambert forced them to go out as a group again. 

They were able to do five (!) bars before Jaskier, Eskel and Geralt fucked off somewhere. And another one before Yen and Triss left to fuck.

Lambert was left alone, again. (He did get into the bartender’s pants though so that was good).

The next day, he learned that Jaksier, Eskel and Geralt had fucked off to FUCK. 

That was a shock.

Kinda cute though.

They were clearly all in love with each other. 

Triss and Yennefer also looked completely besotted.

It was gross, he was jealous.

The next few crawls passed the same. They did a bunch of bars and Lambert was left alone. He didn’t want to be alone anymore.

He wanted to get home to someone dancing in the kitchen and food burning on the stove.

He was never able to get someone to stick around. He was too crass, too rude, his face wasn’t pretty enough. He had nightmares. 

He was thinking of getting a fucking cat, and he didn’t even like cats that much.

Why was he never good enough? Not for his fucking asswipe of a dad, not for his mother who left him when he was a kid, not even his fucking friends wanted to pass a whole night with him. 

He knew his friends loved him and that he was worth loving, but _fuck_ was it hard to tell his brain that. He always felt like the third wheel. The stupid little brother following after the group, trying so hard to fit in but never being able to. 

Clearly, he was too fucked up for love. 

He didn’t need a therapist, he told himself.

Then, he had a full-on breakdown.

A day of crying and screaming, of feeling his loneliness and self-loathing swallow him into their gaping mouths. He felt like he was sliding down their throats, an infinite fall in the darkness of his own mind. And just when he thought he couldn’t go any lower, when he thought he had hit the stomach of his problem, it started digesting him in his sadness and hatred. 

He had to call Geralt in the middle of the night to help him through the vomiting and the shaking. Eskel had followed and they both helped him get through that disaster of a day. They cooked for him, cuddled with him and they talked. They _really_ talked.

The next day, Lambert had an appointment with a therapist.

It was hard but it was so worth it. He didn’t think it would be but it helped so much. He had started communicating more and opening up to his friends and it did wonders. 

The crawl became really their night, they had a certain number of bars to do before people could fuck off and they always checked on the others before leaving it was great.

Lambert was so ready for this year’s crawl. It would be their fifth consecutive year.

They started at the _Tipsy Goose_ , then went to the _Little Cup_ where they got kicked out because Jaskier started a fight with the bartender. The _Flying Spoon_ was the third on the list and after quite a few shots of vodka, Yennefer decided that it was time for her to turn in. Triss chose to follow her home.

“Have some great sex!” He screamed at them across the bar.

“We will, asshole!” Yennefer replied before slipping into the night hand in hand with Triss.

They moved on the fourth bar of the night, 

_The Chill Cat_ was, indeed, chill. They stayed there for a few hours until Jaskier almost fell asleep in his seat. Eskel then executively decided to get the three of them home, Geralt picked up Jaskier bridal style and they left.

Lambert didn’t want the night to end yet, so he started to make his way to his favourite bar (in a fucking straight line). It was also the worst bar in the city and that was what made it his favourite. The beer was cheap, the place was gross and completely silent. It was paradise.

He was almost there when he got distracted by the flashing neon lights of a shop. _How is something still open at this time?_

He turned and saw what was probably the shittiest tattoo shop he had ever seen in his life.

He was getting a tattoo.

Bells jingled as he opened the door.

“Just a moment!” a voice called from the back.

It was a good voice, deep and powerful but still soft. Yeah, good voice. 

Then the most beautiful man came from the back of the shop. Lambert’s jaw dropped. He had dark skin that seemed to shine in the artificial light of the shop. Was that fucking highlighter? His eyes were hazel and when they looked into his own the world stopped. His hair was black, thick and fell on his shoulders. Lambert wanted to bury his hands in that mane and pull. He wore a tank top that showed off muscular arms full of tattoos. 

The sleeve on the left arm was a mix of different looking sigils all fitting perfectly together to make it look like they were in constant movement.

The sleeve of the right arm was a stylized purple and yellow cat. It seemed to appear and disappear in colourful smoke when the man did any movement with his muscles.

This man was a snack. He was also a cat. A cat snack. Friskies.

“Friskies.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m here for a tattoo, Friskies”

“You may call me Aiden and we don’t tattoo drunkards,” Friskies replied, he didn’t seem bothered by the nickname.

“I’m not drunk,” Lambert slurred. He wasn’t drunk he was _fucking drunk._

Aiden raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, “I have a hard time believing that.”

“Look, look I can walk in a straight line.”

Lambert then proceeded to show his impeccable walk-in-a-straight-line skills. Hopefully, this skill wouldn’t make Friskies think that he was as straight as his line. 

“Alright buddy, you can have a tattoo but it’s your funeral.”

“Lambert, -name's Lambert. ”

Aiden sighed, “Alright _Lambert_ , you may come in the back.”

If Friskies continued saying his name in _that_ voice he was definitely going to come in the back… well in the back, in the front of his pants.

Friskies showed him where to sit and turned his back to Lambert to prepare his tattoo things and whatchamacallit. His back made for a good fucking view.

“Do you know what you want and where you want it, Lambert?”

Fuck, that voice. Yeah, he wanted it in his ass right here and there. 

Lambert cleared his throat and lied, “Yeah.”

“Then get ready for me please.”

Friskies _had_ to know what he was saying, holy shit. What the fuck, who even said stuff like that?

Fuck, Lambert had to wing his tattoo choice. He took off his shorts, leaving him in (what he called) his freedom boxers. He always found some way to wear the American flag on his person every 4th of July.

He laid on the chair as Aiden turned back around and gave his underpants a stare, but didn’t comment.

“Thank you, now tell me what you want.” Oh god, Friskies _has_ to know what those words do to him. Especially with that _voice._

 _I want you to bend me over and slam me like a screendoor in a hurricane._ “This is my first tattoo on the thigh.”

“I can see that this is-”

“No," Lambert interrupted, “I want you to write this is my first tattoo.”

Aiden blinked, “Are- are you sure?”

“Fuck yeah!”

Aiden nodded and bent over to start working on the tattoo. And fuck, fuck bad decision that was too close to his dick. Gotta be distracted.

“Sooooo, you come here often?” Lambert asked.

“I work here,” Aiden grunted. 

“But are you here often?”

Aiden sighed hard, “Every day since I came to America.”

“Oh, um, cool, where are you from?”

“Syria.”

Drunk Lambert’s brain didn’t have any fucking filter, what the fuck.

“I went to Syria too once, actually, more than once.” _What. the. FUCK._

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I was in the army for a bit, worst fucking decision of my life. Got told that it was for freedom and shit. Fuck that, I was basically the terrorist there.” He stopped talking and hissed, shit that part of the tattoo had his a sensitive place, “Yeah, and then I came back and I said fuck the army, fuck the government if they’re taking homes away from people then I’m going to help them get new ones,” He grinned, “So what I did when I came back was use the fucking army money to get an education and now I do pro-bono for work to help refugees get in the country. Fuck you government!”

Aiden laughed sadly, “Fuck the government indeed, I had a hard time to get in. After all, I’m a Syrian man without any family or spouse.”

“That’s rough buddy.”

Friskies laughed for real this time. Fuck, Lambert wanted to hear that sound until the end of times.

“An avatar reference?” 

“Hey! It’s a fucking great show!”

Aiden looked up from his work, ”It’s my favourite.”

“Same…” _Thank fuck, Friskies was a man of taste._

Silence established itself after that. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just there. Lambert looked at Aiden, hard at work on the lettering. He seemed to be doing a good job and wasn't rushing. Then Lambert’s brain had the great idea to continue talking. 

“Dude, I’m single too.” he sighed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, fuck, all my friends are in stupid, gross, perfect relationships and they’re all in love. Maybe I also want romance too, you know? Flowers or some shit, definitely a good fucking.”

Aiden did a very unattractive snort, but it was also kinda hot, “I’d like a husband one day.”

Holy shit, Lambert had a chance!

“A husband?”

Aiden stopped working and looked up at him darkly, “You have a problem with that?”

Lambert blushed, “Fuck no, I mean, I also want a husband.”

Aiden smiled, “Cool.” 

_No! Not cool! Lambert was not cool! This was the man of his dreams!_

Aiden got up, took some cling wrap from his work station, and came back to wrap Lambert’s thigh and explained to him how to take care of his new tattoo. Aiden was done wrapping his thigh but kept his hand firmly over the new tattoo.

“No regrets?” Aiden asked.

If Lambert wasn’t already drunk, he would be just from the pressure of Aiden's gaze. _Fuck, he really wanted this man_. 

“No ragrats,” Lambert answered while trying to put his pants back on, “And it’s not like anyone will see it unless I take off my pants.”

Aiden raised an eyebrow, “Not many people in line for that, huh?” 

Lambert grinned, time to shoot his shot, “Not really, but you could be first on the list if you wanted.”

Friskies laughed, “Alright, that’ll be forty dollars.”

Fuck, he had blown his chance to get the perfect man. Well, no point in crying over spilled milk, but he would make sure he was remembered.

He paid and left the shop, but just before he crossed the road he turned around and screamed, “I GOT YOU FUCKER, I’M PISS ASS DRUNK WOOHOO!”

Then he fled the scene as best as he could.

*

Lambert woke up with a splitting headache on Yennefer’s couch. Fuck, that last beer or two... or three, were one too many. At least he had gotten back to Yen’s place and didn't pass out in the middle of an alley like he did a few years ago. He tried to get up but hissed at the jolt of pain it sent in his thigh.

Shit, why did his thigh also hurt? That wasn’t a normal hangover symptom. He needed to get to the bathroom to check. Hopefully, no one would be in it.

He slowly made his way down the hallway and saw that all the doors to the bedrooms were still closed. It seemed like he was the only one awake.

He went into the bathroom, locked the door and painfully removed his pants. They pooled at his feet and he looked where the pain came from.

Ah, fuck. 

He had a fucking tattoo. A fucking tattoo that said ‘this is my first tattoo’. _What the fuck were you thinking Drunk Lambert?_

He was about to put his pants back on when he saw some black writing at the back of his thigh under the cling wrap. 

‘I know you’re drunk, asshole, call me 202-555-0106 -Friskies (Aiden)’

Lambert grinned, “Fuck yes, Drunk Lambert you’re forgiven!”

*

“Are you motherfuckers ready!” yelled Lambert, “For the yearly fucking fourth of July bar crawl!” 

He was in a black clinging tank top to show off his new wolf sleeve tattoo, one of the many he had gotten in the last year. Tattoos were addictive. 

“I’m ready, asshole,” Aiden claimed as he sidled up to Lambert’s side. 

“I know you are, Friskies,” smiled Lambert as Aiden pressed a kiss to his forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> there may be some typos rip me, so if you see any you are very welcome to tell me


End file.
